Art is about being open and raw and honest. I can’t do that while this boy who stirs a different emotion with each passing second sits a few feet away.
“No, we don’t,” Mr Simmons says and there’s an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before.
He steps forward, effectively blocking Zane from entering any farther and I’m so grateful at the push-back that I could cry. He drops his voice low but I’m close enough to hear every word.
“It’s nice that you’ve taken a belated interest in art but we’re eight months into the school year. There’s no way you could catch up to the other pupils.” He turns to Miss Murewa. “That’s why I declined his request when it came through the student portal.”
And I understand his tone better. Not just that a student wants to insert themselves at such late notice, but that his boss is overriding his decision.
“Take a seat,” she says to Zane, then gestures for Mr Simmons to join her outside. My sympathies walk out the door with him.
“Hey,” Zane says to the boy in the seat next to mine. “You don’t mind moving, do you? Only my eyesight’s so bad, I need to sit near the front.”
“If your eyesight’s bad, perhaps you should take another subject.” My words are forced out through gritted teeth as the boy immediately vacates to the table behind.
“A fantastic suggestion,” Zane teases, lightly touching my shoulder and igniting sparks as he drags the abandoned chair closer. “I should probably apply for music, then.”
Another of my classes.
I stare with puzzled resentment as he moves to grab supplies from the far side of the classroom. Just when I reached some internal peace with what happened, getting close to forgiving his behaviour, he shoves himself where he doesn’t belong.
Again.
“You can’t be serious,” I snap the moment he’s back within range. “There’s less than four months left of the year. Your grades will be rubbish.”
He chuckles and the sound grates on my nerves. “Thanks for your concern but when you’re as rich as I am, that doesn’t matter as much as you think. Pretty sure my dad can purchase me any career I want.”
“And how much did it cost to buy your way into this class?” My exasperation grows worse the less he appears to care. “Mr Simmons works so hard for us, and you just pushed in here with your buckets of cash. It’s disgusting.”
He arches an eyebrow at my aggressive attitude, and I can’t tell him what truly upsets me is being this close to him, my body uncomfortably aware of each change in position, flaring at the tiniest motion.
And I can’t admit to him I prefer this lightly teasing Zane to the boy who still surges into my head on occasion.
The one who makes my throat seize, my heart hammering in fright. The one who laughs as I struggle for air.
Who might still laugh after I’m dead.
“Yeah, terrible,” he answers with a smirk. “Anytime you want to swap that premium sketching paper for a cheap notebook, go ahead.”
The remark worsens my temper because yes, one of the things I love best about Tiaki Academy is how well they’re funded. How I get to work with supplies I’d struggle to afford on my own.
“At least sit someplace else. Unlike you, I want to achieve something in this class.”
“But then I’d miss your amazing conversation.” He shakes his head, feigning sadness. “Gotta say, that’s the last time I listen to relationship gurus. Take an interest, they said. Share a passion, they said.”
Relationship???
“Go stick your head in a blender, they said.”
He laughs, eyes twinkling with merriment until I look away.
I’ve stared at those same eyes a hundred times since Monday, newly addicted to the social media pages of him and his friends. As though memorising every aesthetically pleasing detail would curb my attraction.
Fat chance.
My head whips around as Mr Simmons returns, his anger palpable, eyes narrowing as he glares at the reason for his upset.
“Aren’t you going to explain the lesson?” Zane asks, his smile broadening as the teacher’s hands clench.
